


Love & Breakfast

by Indoor_Enthusiast



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Mild Language, Randomness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25164526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indoor_Enthusiast/pseuds/Indoor_Enthusiast
Summary: Ander is a cook at Waffle House, Omar is very particular about how he likes his eggs, and so begins a feud.The only reason this is rated T+ is for mild cursing.
Relationships: Ander Muñoz & Omar Shana, Ander Muñoz/Omar Shana
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	1. It's the Eggs, Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had no real plans to write another fic until I saw the reddit relationships 'Waffle House' ask on twitter and it's basically the greatest 'enemies to lovers' premise of all time. So, here we are with Ander & Omar having the pettiest feud ever at a Waffle House. I suppose this is AU-ish in the sense that none of the canon is really relevant to the story and for the purposes of this fic Waffle House exists in Spain. 
> 
> I started this a while ago but life got in the way, so even though it's hardly timely anymore I'm sharing it anyway.  
> Same disclaimers as the last one, I don't own these characters yada yada yada, and I'm new to this whole writing fic thing.

It was a bright and sunny day as Ander made his way down the sidewalk, but he knew that the slight breeze tickling the tips of his ears meant that fall was on its way. He was meant to have this weekend off of work, his first in weeks, but it was Nando’s niece’s birthday and he had all but begged him to cover his shift; though to be honest he really hadn’t needed all that much persuading. Nando had been in a bind, and as per usual Ander had been strapped for cash, so really it had been a no brainer. As he pulled open the door to the diner he could see that most of the booths were empty and there were only a handful of customers sprinkled at the counter, but the air was already thick with the smell of grease. Heading straight for the staff room in the back, he hoped that given the earlier timing of the shift he was working today he’d at least find a working locker to store his stuff in for the day.

Glancing at the peeling yellow paint on the wall above the time clock as he pulled his apron over his head, he could see that there were already two names crossed off of the day’s shift schedule, it looked like Nico & Elena had already called off. It was barely 10:30 am but there was already a faint buzz in the air as he pushed the door stepping back out into the dining area. Tying the straps of his apron behind his back, he could hear the sounds of pots and pans clanging from behind the counter. The lunchtime rush wouldn’t begin for at least another hour, but it looked like this was already shaping up to be quite the busy day. Understaffed on a Saturday? Just another day in paradise he sighed, as he stepped into the kitchen to survey the damage.

* * *

Ander had been on shift for nearly three hours and it looked like things might finally be slowing down a bit after the lunchtime rush; it was as good a time as any for Carlotta to take her break. Ander lifted his head as he heard the ringing of the bell above the door, a young couple made their way through the entryway looking around for a table. As they settled into a booth near the far end of the bar he set down the rag he’d been using to wipe down the counter, and grabbed a couple of laminated menus before walking toward where they’d squeezed into one of the smaller booths, seated across from each other.

He paused as he slid the menus onto the table, taking a moment to take the couple in. She was dressed in what could charitably be described as ‘athleisure,’ sporting skin tight yoga tights and a cropped neoprene zip-up jacket in an attention grabbing lime green color, over a semi sheer sparkly cami. Her long dark hair hung in a ponytail which sat askew atop her head, while oversized gold hoops hung from her ears to complete the look. He, on the other hand, was dressed casually in a dark t-shirt and jeans, it was like they’d gotten dressed to go on two completely different dates. His hair was cut short, so dark it almost looked black, and his chocolate brown eyes had a hint of sadness to them that seemed out of place hovering above the soft if hesitant smile on his lips. He was kinda cute Ander thought; he snuck another quick look from beneath his lashes, definitely cute.

“Welcome to Waffle House, my name is Ander and I’ll be over in a few to take your order if you want to take a minute to look over the menu.” he rushed through his usual variation of the company approved greeting, before turning back toward where he’d left his rag on the counter.

He’d only taken a few steps when he heard the sound of a sharp whistle coming from behind him, back in the direction of the booth where the couple were sat. “Uh.. hello,” he heard the girl call over to him, “don’t we even get a glass of water in this place?” she huffed as he turned to look back in their direction. Had she really just whistled at him? Who on earth whistles at their server, he wondered as he walked back toward their table.

“I’m sorry ma’am, is there something that I can get for you?” he asked.

“Uh,” she cocked her eyebrow slightly,” I just said we needed water,” she said before letting out an audible sigh. “And I think you forgot to wipe down this table too, it’s gross,” she added, her tone dripping with condescension as she flicked her perfectly manicured finger at the tabletop.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry, just give me a sec,” Ander replied, forcing a smile onto his face and hoping it translated to his voice. Turning back toward the kitchen, he closed his eyes and let out a small sigh.

“God Omar, I have no idea why you even wanted to come eat here, it’s kind of a dump.” he heard the girl huff from across the dining room, clearly making no effort to keep anyone else from hearing. She glared at her boyfriend as she reached for a napkin and wiped down her phone before tapping away quickly. Ander stifled a laugh as he lifted the end of the counter to duck behind the bar, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

* * *

Ander grabbed an order pad, sticking it under his armpit and shoving one of those ridiculous baby pencils— that he swore restaurants used specifically to add that extra pinch of humiliation to the already painful jobs of their wait staff— behind his ear. Hunching over to pick up two cups of water, he backed his way out of the kitchen door and headed back toward the couple at the end of the row. Setting down the cups he dropped a couple of straws on the table, before grabbing the order pad from under his arm and reaching for the pencil behind his ear. “You guys know what you want yet?” he mumbled as the pencil caught in his curls. Finally working it free, he glanced back down at the table to see the boyfriend, whose name he now knew was Omar, looking at him before his gaze flicked quickly back to the menu laying on the table in front of him. “The pancakes are always a pretty safe bet if you’re not sure,” he suggested, biting down on the corner of his bottom lip as he scribbled their table number on his pad.

“I’ll have the french toast and two eggs over medium,” Omar said quickly, not even glancing in Ander’s direction as he shut his menu and turned to his girlfriend expectantly. A minute passed, as he sat looking at her, “Did you figure out what you want?” he asked. She was silent, picking up her phone to check an alert that had flashed across the screen. “Erghphf,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to get her attention.

Sighing heavily, she looked up from her phone, glancing at him briefly before picking gingerly at the corner of the menu where the laminating plastic was threatening to peel. “Ehh, I dunno nothing looks any good,” she drawled, her nose scrunching up as she spoke. Ander stood awkwardly beside the table taking in this scintillating debate and praying that she’d just hurry up and choose something. As though echoing his own thoughts, her boyfriend sighed impatiently, “if you’re going to order, just go ahead and order. Pick something, anything,” he implored her, “he’s waiting.” he finished, jerking his head in my direction.

“I’m sure he can wait a second, customers aren’t exactly breaking down the door to eat here,” she grumbled as she reached for her phone again.

“Rebe, please.” the boyfriend said reaching across the table for her hand and giving her his best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes, “just give me some toast and a cup of coffee.” she spat.

Reaching for the pencil again, Ander scribbled down her order, or at least what he assumed was her order given the dismissive way she’d spat the words seemingly at no one in particular. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and put that order in for you guys,” he said, reaching to put the pencil back behind his ear. As he leaned over the table to pick up their menus, a lock of hair fell over his face and the little pencil dropped to the table. Putting the menus under his arm he blew his hair off his face, it really was time for a haircut he thought to himself, reaching to pick up the pencil. As his hand hovered over the table, he felt two fingers tap his wrist. Looking up, he saw Omar’s lips form a small smirk as he unfurled his long fingers to reveal the stubby pencil in his palm, before wordlessly dropping it into Ander’s. “Uh, thanks,” Ander mumbled. Turning back toward the kitchen, Ander sighed, stupid bootleg pencil. Now would’ve been a really good time for Carlotta to get back from her break. Any time now.

* * *

Ducking back into the kitchen, Ander wiped his brow as he tore the order ticket from his pad and stuck it to the line where he could see it. Just as that annoying couple had finally finished deliberating over the world’s most basic menu options so that he could finally set about cooking their order, customer traffic had decided to pick up heading into the late afternoon. Apparently there were at least some people who were beating down the doors to dine at this fine establishment after all, and now Ander was having to hustle. Seriously, where the hell was Carlotta, and in what universe did she think this counted as a 15 minute break?

Ten minutes later, Ander had plated their food and he headed back out of the kitchen toward the booth in the back where the couple were both hunched over their phones in silence. Reaching the table, he juggled the plates awkwardly, managing to just narrowly avoided dumping it all on the floor. He set the plate of pancakes in front of the boyfriend and winced slightly at the dry and slightly burned looking toast he set before the girlfriend, not that she’d looked up to acknowledge it anyway before grumbling, “that sure took long enough.” Ignoring her he turned on his heel, adding politely “enjoy your meal.”

“These eggs are wrong.” he heard the boyfriend call abruptly before he’d had a chance to make it more than two steps away.  
Turning around he queried, “Excuse me, is there something wrong with the eggs?”  
“There’s nothing wrong with the eggs, they are wrong,” he replied curtly, his face contorted into a frown.

“I’m not sure I understand, the eggs are wrong? Did you not order eggs?” Ander asked, confused.

“I did order eggs. I just didn’t order these egg.” Omar sighed with frustration. “I ordered my eggs over-medium,” he said, poking one of the eggs in front of him for emphasis. Watching the yolk ooze out onto the plate, he continued, “this egg is runny.” He spoke slowly, enunciating every word as though he were speaking to a child.

“I so sorry,” Ander said, doing his best to keep the sarcasm from seeping into his voice, “ I must have made a mistake, things got really busy there for a minute…” he continued.

“Make them again.” the guy said, cutting Ander off before he could finish his explanation.

“Right,” Ander bit his tongue, doing his best not to show his frustration. Did this tool seriously just give me an order? he wondered. “I’ll just take this back and bring you out a new order,” he said flatly, moving to pick up the plate with the offending eggs.

“And don’t forget the pancakes too,” Omar added.

“Is there something wrong with the pancakes as well,” Ander asked confused.

“Well, not only do they now have yolk on them, they’ll be cold by the time you figure out how to fry an egg correctly,” he said derisively.

“Right. Sure.” Ander replied curtly, grabbing the second plate and turning toward the kitchen before he found himself saying something he would regret. This kind of bullshit was exactly why he didn’t wait tables. Serving up grease coated garbage to customers who had the nerve to be snippy and impatient over a meal they were paying € 5 for? No thanks.

* * *

Five minutes later, Ander dropped a freshly cooked egg on a fresh plate and added the stack of pancakes, hoping the guy wouldn’t notice that they’d simply been reheated. He took a deep breath as he approached the table, plastering a smile on my face, before setting the plate in front of the boyfriend again. “Here you go. Buttermilk pancakes with two fried eggs, over medium, on the side.”

He stared at the plate in front of him for a minute, as though he were inspecting a rare delicacy rather than a € 2 plate of eggs. Finally, letting out a deep sigh he spoke, “Jesus. This egg is firm, practically hard. Seriously, how fucking hard can it be to make an egg?” he said, his voice hard and full of disdain.

Wordlessly, Ander grabbed the plate and made his way back toward the kitchen. Asshole. “I swear,” he muttered to himself, “if Carlotta doesn’t come back from her break in the next 30 seconds I’ll be making the evening news for being charged with committing a double homicide.”


	2. Except at Waffle House

It was a cool day, the wind whipping around them as Omar struggled to keep his scarf tied firmly around his neck. “ I really don’t get why you want to come here again?” Rebe moaned, staring at him with furrowed brows.

It was Saturday, and by some miracle, he’d managed to convince Rebe to let him drag her back to the Waffle House around the corner. “I dunno, I like it there.” Omar shrugged.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “that place is so grimy, the toilets smell like someone just threw up in there and the food isn’t in even good. It’s amazing that we didn’t catch something just from setting foot in the place.”

Omar couldn’t help but chuckle at that, the ambience at Waffle House definitely left a lot to be desired. “The pancakes are good,” he said halfheartedly. Truthfully, that wasn’t why he kept going back there, he went to Waffle House to remember. He went there because he wanted to hold on to a piece of his old self. It was where he used to come with his big sister when he was younger, they’d come on days when she’d had a particularly bad fight with their parents; she would grab his hand claiming she was taking Omar out to the park as an excuse to get out of the house. They’d walk the few blocks to go to the restaurant, grab a table, and she’d smile at Omar telling him he could order whatever he wanted, even the things that he knew mom & dad didn’t like for them to eat.

Maybe it was silly to keep coming here but this was how he liked to remember her, the way it was when the two of them would escape, laughing and eating themselves into a food coma. The Waffle House version of her, where pancakes could still fix everything. Before she'd left, and nothing could ever fix their family again. But Rebe had no way of knowing all of that, not even Nadia knew. Nadia had always coped with the fights by burying her head in a book, escaping in her own way. Waffle House belonged to him and May.

Holding the door open for Rebe, Omar yanked his scarf from around his neck as they walked into Waffle House. Immediately, he headed over to the booth they’d occupied last week near the back of the row, his & May’s booth.

* * *

“Welcome to Waffle House, my name is Carlotta,” the waitress smiled as she reached their booth, “if you have any questions about the menu feel free to let me know, otherwise I’ll be back to grab your order in a couple of minutes,” she continued, snapping her gum as she slid two menus across the table in their direction and turned toward her next table. Rebe fiddled with her large gold hoop earrings as she picked up her menu, scanning it quickly as though it would somehow have gotten more appealing in the week since they’d last been here. Omar ignored his menu, he already knew what he wanted, he’d been ordering the exact same thing for years. “Ugh. Seriously Omar.” Rebe sighed not bothering to finish her thought.

It was several minutes before the waitress returned to their table, her dirty blonde ponytail bobbing as she walked. Pulling out her order pad, she chirped, “y’all ready to order?”

Rebe had given up on finding something she wanted on the menu and settled for a cup of coffee, black, with one sugar.“Pancakes & two eggs over medium,” Omar said handing his unopened menu back to the waitress.

“Alright, one coffee, black with one sugar and an order of pancakes with two eggs over medium,” she rattled off, checking her pad. “That’ll be about ten minutes,” she finished, tucking away her order pad in her apron as she headed back towards the kitchen, leaving Omar and Rebe to their conversation.

“I wonder if that cute chef is working today?” she mused.

“God I hope not,” Omar grumbled.

“Oh come on, you’ve got to admit he was pretty cute," Rebe quirked an eyebrow.

“Cute? Sure. Chef? Debatable. The guy couldn’t even cook a fucking egg right,” Omar grumbled. He knew he probably shouldn’t have been as short with the guy last week, it was a mistake that anyone could have made, but there was just something about him that ruffled his feathers.

“Eh, I don’t need him to cook me eggs, as long as he knows what he’s doing outside the kitchen,” Rebe shrugged.

“I’m sure Samu will appreciate your willingness to assess his talents,” Omar smirked.

True to her word, Carlotta returned ten minutes later carrying a tray their way. “Pancakes and two eggs over medium for you,” she said setting a plate down in front

of Omar, “and a cup of coffee for your girlfriend,” she finished, setting a cup in front of Rebe.

“Oh, she’s not my…” Omar paused peering down at his plate. “These eggs are wrong,” Omar said abruptly, abandoning his previous train of thought.

“Not right, how?” Carlotta asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“These eggs aren’t over medium. They’re runny.” Omar said curtly, his frustration evident.

“I’m sorry, the chef must have mixed up his orders,” Carlotta said apologetically, “give me five minutes and I’ll have him remake this for you,” she said picking up the plate.

“Sure, Omar said flatly, his smile tightening.

* * *

Entering the kitchen, Carlotta set the plate above Ander’s station, “he said his eggs weren’t right,” she said. “These are runny, and apparently they were supposed to be over medium.”

Sighing, Ander reached over and picked up the plate. “Did you say the order was for pancakes and two eggs over medium?” he asked Carlotta, raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I think that’s what he said,” Carlotta said, double checking her order pad. “Yeah, definitely two eggs over medium.”

“And the guy who ordered these, what did you say he looked like again?” Ander asked slowly.

“Uh, I didn’t,” Carlotta mumbled, confusion shrouding her face. “He had brown hair, almost black. Cut short. Big brown eyes. Pretty intense looking, kind of cute,” she said slowly, “his girlfriend is kinda loud, crazy pointy nails,” she continued.

“Right. Of course.” Ander replied, a small smile forming on his lips. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get right on that order,” he said, a hint of mirth in his voice.

“Here you go. Pancakes and two eggs for table 6,” Ander said pushing a plate towards Carlotta a few minutes later.

Carlotta grabbed the plate before turning towards the door back to the dining room. She took a few steps before pausing and turning back to look at Ander, confusion evident in her eyes, “These eggs are poached,” she said her brow furrowed, “he wanted them…”

“I know,” Ander cut her off. “Just trust me,” he smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. She shrugged. Grabbing the plate Carlotta headed back toward the dining room, shaking her head.

* * *

“Here you go. Two eggs over medium.” Carlotta declared, setting a plate in front of Omar. “Again, I’m _so_ sorry about the mix-up,” she smiled apologetically.

Reaching for his knife and fork, Omar looked down at the plate she’d set in front of him. His lips pulled into a thin line as he turned back toward the waitress, “These. Eggs. Are. Poached,” he practically growled, his fists clenching around the cutlery.

“I’m so sorry,” Carlotta gasped, feigning ignorance. “Let me just take these back to the kitchen real quick and ask the…”

“No.” Omar said flatly, “don’t bother with the eggs, you can toss them, I don’t care.” he continued, waving her off. “What I want you to do is go find that idiot chef, maybe if I explain it to him _real slow_ he can finally wrap his head around how to make a damned egg,” he said, doing his best to contain his anger. After all, it wasn’t the waitress he had a problem with.

“Uhh, yeah. Um, let me just go see if I can grab him real quick.” Carlotta said hesitantly, biting her lip.

“Yeah. you do that.” Omar replied sarcastically, as Carlotta turned back toward the kitchen.

* * *

A few minutes later, Ander approached the table, schooling his face into a blank look. “Hey man, did I mess up your girlfriend’s toast? Lottie said there was something wrong with you order,” he said calmly.

“I’m not his…” Rebe started, just as Omar snapped, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“ _Okay_ …” Ander said stretching out the word, crinkling his forehead in apparent confusion.

“Trust me, my boyfriend’s more his type than I am.” Rebe scoffed. “God knows, I wish he’d drag him to this dump instead,” she muttered. “Ow, what the fuck?” she yelped, her eyes flickering down to where Omar had tried to kick her under the table.

“Anyway…Uhh,” Ander stuttered, almost dropping the baby pencil he’d been twirling between his fingers as he tried to stifle a laugh. “So, is it not the toast then?” he asked innocently.

“No, man,” Omar emphasised the second word the way Ander had, mockery in his voice. it’s not the fucking toast. How hard can it possibly be to make an egg?”

“Aww, fuck man. Did I get your eggs wrong? I thought you asked for two eggs…”Ander started before Omar interrupted him.

Yes, two eggs over medium. Do you know what these are? Not over fucking medium.” Omar said, his hand hitting the table with a thud.

“Alright, man. Umm, let me just go,” Ander started as he reached for the plate.

“No.” Omar interrupted him, blocking his arm. “I know they’re not exactly hiring rocket scientists to work here, but WTF? Exactly how dumb do you have to be to screw up eggs man?”

“What did you just say to me?” Ander snapped, yanking his arm away, the edge clear in his voice, his face going rigid.

“I want to know just how stupid you are,” Omar scowled, his shoulders tensing. He waited for his retort, his muscles wound so tight he might've launched out of his seat at any moment, but it never came. Ander glared at him for what felt like ten minutes his teeth gritted, clearly struggling to swallow whatever words were on his tongue as he yanked the plate off the table and stalked angrily back toward the kitchen.


	3. Over Medium

Three weeks later:

It was Sunday afternoon when Ander walked into work, rubbing his hands together trying to work some warmth back into his fingers. Fall was well and truly here, and he’d forgotten to dig through his drawers for the pair of gloves he knew he’d shoved somewhere in there last spring. Today was one of those days were all he wanted was to get in and get out, a quiet shift that was just busy enough to keep the time moving along but not so busy that he went home feeling bone tired. Whatever else happened, the one thing he hoped to God was that the prick with the eggs didn’t show up today.

It had been weeks since he’d started showing up on the weekend, most weekends he came in on Saturdays, but a couple of times he’d shown up on a Sunday. The other week, Ander had been surprised to see him show up with someone other than his ‘not girlfriend,” instead he’d come in with a guy, he’d had wavy dark hair and eyes to match, a little on the short side and not at all Ander’s type, but still kinda cute. A boyfriend perhaps, although he hadn’t really gotten a clear vibe either way. Ander’s mind had been far too occupied with trying to keep himself from punching egg guy. No matter what day he came in and who he’d dragged with him, one thing stayed the same, he always ordered two fucking over medium eggs on the side.

Every week he came in, ordered his eggs on the side, and complained. Ander couldn’t for the life of him understand how someone could feel so strongly about a € 2 plate of eggs. At first, getting his order mixed up really had been an accident, but it had only taken a couple of visits before Ander had gotten tired of his attitude, he’d started screwing up his order on purpose weeks ago. He’d only planned to do it once, but then he’d called him stupid and so he’d done it again. And when the jerk had actually tried to step to him, that’s when he’d truly committed to the bit. He had no idea how long this would go on, but at this point, he knew for sure that he wasn’t going to be the one to back down. Was it childish? Maybe. Was he going to keep doing it even if it meant taking the time to look up new ways to cook his eggs wrong? Absolutely.

Ander had made it two-thirds of the way through his shift without anything noteworthy happening, maybe egg guy had been in yesterday when he’d had the day off, he’d thought. No such luck. He was just heading back out from his break when he heard it, “… and I’d like two eggs over medium on the side.” He looked up from the apron he’d been tying around his waist, just as Gabi tucked her order pad back into her apron. Fuck.

He’d already settled in behind the grill by the time Gabi made her way back to the kitchen, tearing off the order slip as she entered. “Order for table 6, pancakes and…” Gabi started.

“Two eggs over medium on the side. I know,” Ander cut in, already pulling out his phone to look up exactly how he was going to fuck up the prick’s eggs today.

* * *

He’d told Gabi not to bother when she’d come into the kitchen to grab the order, he’d save them all a couple of steps and deliver the plate of eggs florentine to the table himself. Approaching the table, he was surprised to find that Omar was seated at the table alone today. He was sat quietly in the booth, his shoulders hunched slightly as he toyed with his napkin. Ander stopped, wordlessly setting the plate on the table in front of him.

“Come the fuck on,” Omar muttered before raising his chin to look at Ander. His face was hard, but he sounded almost resigned. Until his eyes met Ander’s that is, then there it was, that flash of anger was back in his eyes. Before Ander had time to open his mouth and drop his usual line pretending to be clueless about his ‘mistake,’ Omar had jumped to his feet. Stepping toward Ander he growled, “I am so not in the mood for this shit today.” Ander flinched slightly, but his face remained the picture of innocence. He’d expected his usual frustrated sighs or angry words, but what he wasn’t expecting was what happened next; Omar lunged at him, grabbing his shirt in his fist.

After the initial shock, Ander felt a rush of anger. He couldn’t believe this entitled jerk had really just laid his hands on him, and before he knew it he was shoving back against him. The two men grappled with one another, pushing and grabbing at each other. None of the other patrons paid them much mind at first, this was after all hardly the first fight to have broken out at a Waffle House. After a few minutes of continued yelling and shoving, a couple of heads turned their way, and just as Ander had finally gotten a solid grasp on Omar’s hair, moving to shove him off of him, he spotted Gabi rushing toward them. By the time she’d reached them, it was too late, the two of them had already sprung apart.

Had Ander really just felt that? No, no way he told to himself, his mind swimming. There’s no way that could really have been what he thought it was. The two men had been grabbing at each other when Ander had scooted forward, stepping in between Omar’s legs as he tried to keep his balance. He’d narrowly avoided falling on his ass for the moment, but he’d almost gotten knocked back again a few moments later. Hardly a second after he’d moved against Omar he’d felt something harden against his thigh, and before he could begin to process what had happened, Omar had jumped back so far away from him one would have thought he’d been hit with a taser.

“Just get me some new eggs, damn it.” Omar barked as he steadied himself against the table behind him. Though it wasn’t clear immediately which one of them his words were directed at, it didn’t matter; Ander stood there silently for a moment before he turned and walked wordlessly back toward the kitchen.

* * *

It had been two weeks since the fight, but Ander’s head was still swimming, he couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened, or at least what he thought had happened. He couldn’t stop thinking about the events of that Sunday, the resigned, almost sad look he’d seen flash across Omar’s face as he’d set the plate of eggs down in front of him, the anger with which he’d lunged at him, and finally the way his body had reacted to him in the seconds before they’d sprung apart. It didn’t compute. The fact that Omar hadn’t come in at all the following weekend didn’t help matters. Maybe it hadn’t meant anything, dicks have been known to have a mind of their own, but if it hadn’t then why was he steering clear of the Waffle House? Although to be fair, Ander supposed, he’d probably also steer clear of a restaurant for a bit if he popped a boner in front of a waiter.

Whatever it did or didn’t mean, Ander had resolved that he was done fucking with the guy. He’d had his little bit of fun, but it wasn’t worth getting into fights over. As he headed in to work that Saturday, Ander did his best to push thoughts of Omar out of his mind, whatever had happened that day it was in the past and that’s where Ander intended to leave it.

Pushing open the door to the diner Ander hummed to himself, the opening bars of Old Town Road blasting through his earbuds. Looking up as he walked through the door, his eyes immediately went to the booth at the back, he hadn’t even meant to look, and after last week he really wasn’t expecting to see him sitting there, but to his surprise, he spotted a head of dark hair hunching over the table as he slid into the booth. He’d come back.

Rushing back toward the break room, he stuffed his jacket in one of the available lockers, and hurriedly punched his employee number into the time clock. Not that he was rushing to be in the kitchen by the time Omar’s order came through, no that definitely wasn’t it, it was just that the sooner he started his shift, the sooner he could get out of there, that’s all. Tying his apron as he made his way back to the kitchen he could see that Isabelle was just heading back towards the table to take Omar’s order. He was with a guy this time, he didn’t look familiar and Ander was pretty sure he hadn’t been in with him before. A sibling or a friend maybe, he thought. Or perhaps a boyfriend? The thought had only lasted a second, but Ander wasn’t sure why it had popped into his head at all. He shook his head, what did it matter to him anyway?

It was only a few minutes before the order came back, “I got it,” Ander said grabbing the ticket before Isabelle could even get the words out. Reaching over to grab a couple of eggs off the workbench to his left, Ander stopped; he knew he should just go on and pop the eggs on the griddle and get on with his other orders but he found himself grabbing the jug of premixed eggs instead. He knew it was petty, but he couldn’t help himself, just one last time, he swore.

* * *

As soon as they looked done he scooped a serving of perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs onto a plate next to a stack of pancakes, finishing up just as Isabelle pushed the door to the kitchen back open. Picking the plate up wordlessly she just rolled her eyes and turned on her heel. By now most of the staff knew about his ‘feud’ with the ‘egg guy’ and simply played along, humouring him out of what he assumed was more boredom than anything else. Glancing at his phone he checked the time, and then he waited, his lips turning up slightly into a fleeting smile.

He already had the new plate ready when Isabelle returned to the kitchen, his name already on her lips. “Aaander…” she sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just a sec,” he replied, stifling a giggle as he placed the final stroke on the small piece of paper before folding it in half. He swapped the plates on her tray, quickly slipping the small square beneath the edge of the plate. Isabelle glanced up at him, her eyes sweeping up from the tray to meet his in question. “Don’t worry about it,” he blurted out quickly, his cheeks heating slightly, “it’s nothing bad, I promise.”

She looked doubtful. “This had better not be the thing that finally gets me fired, otherwise I’m coming for your ass. You’re not cute enough for me to lose my job over you little shit.” she said, winking at him as she turned for the door.”

“I love you too, babe,” he chuckled, “just tell him it’s compliments of the chef.” Ander wasn’t even really sure what had made him do it, but the idea had hit him as soon as he went to plate the food. The chances that this would end well were slim to none, and slim had just walked out the door with Isabelle. But what was done was done, there was no taking it back now.

* * *

Omar tapped his finger on the table nervously, waiting for the waitress to return. He’d known what was coming, it was obvious at this point that the cook was fucking with him. He probably should have just found a way to call a truce weeks ago, to apologize; either that or thrown in the towel and started going to a different Waffle House, there was another one a couple of blocks away, but he hadn’t. He knew the cook had no way of knowing why it had to be this specific one, this specific booth, and the same god damn eggs. He’d been a bit of jerk to him and now the guy was dicking him around, yeah, he got it. Speaking of dicks, thanks to the way his had betrayed him a couple of weeks ago he now had a new problem. He could do their usual dance, but after the way his body had reacted to him the last time, he really wasn’t sure he had it in him. He hadn’t been able to get the memory out of his head, it was why he hadn’t come in for the last two weekends, and the thought of seeing him again made his palms sweaty. Couldn’t the universe just have cut him a break and made today the guy’s day off?

A minute later he caught a glimpse of the waitress heading their way, he took in a deep breath as he toyed with the remains of what had once been his napkin. Looking at the plate as she went to set it in front of him, his shoulders sank. Pancakes, with a side of scrambled eggs. “Here you go hon, compliments of the chef,” she smiled brightly. He’d opened his mouth ready to say something, to tell her to take it back again. Instead, he just let out a resigned sigh, and she turned away heading toward another table.

He stared at the plate for a second, then went to pick up his fork. Moving the plate slightly to free his trapped fork, a small sliver paper caught his eye. Lifting the edge of the plate, he pulled out what looked like a small receipt. That was odd, the receipt didn’t usually come with the meal, and as unusual as the service could be at Waffle House, it wasn’t typically stashed under a plate either. He grabbed the small piece of paper and went to crumple it up, but a flash of scratchy handwriting caught his eye. Slowly, he unfolded the small piece of paper, squinting slightly to make out the words scrawled messily across it. His stared at it, his eyes widening briefly. He stifled a smile before quickly stashing it in his jeans pocket.

“059 748 1106,” it read. There was no name accompanying the number, but the point was moot as soon he turned it over and saw the message on the back, “Call me. I promise I’ll make your eggs right in the morning.”


End file.
